An Earl to Enchant (15 page)

Twelve

My Dearest Grandson Lucas,

Read these wise words from Lord Chesterfield and you will know why I enjoyed his friendship. “Be upon your guard against those, who, upon very slight acquaintance, obtrude their unasked and unmerited friendship and confidence upon you. Examine farther, and see whether those unexpected offers flow from a warm heart and a silly head, or from a designing head and a cold heart; for knavery and folly have often the same symptoms.”

Your loving Grandmother,

Lady Elder

It was bloody awful.

It had been two days since his cousins left, and Morgan was waiting to feel better about their visit, but that hadn’t happened yet. He would have given anything if his cousins hadn’t seen Arianna dancing. What a hell of a thing to have happened. Sometimes his cousins could be such bastards. For once, he thought as he walked into the drawing room to wait for Constance, he was glad they hadn’t stayed longer than overnight.

Post had told him that Mrs. Pepperfield had arrived and was resting from the exhausting trip from London. She would be in the drawing room at six o’clock to meet with him. He walked over to the marble-topped table to make sure a fresh bottle of wine had been opened, but should have known he didn’t need to do that now that all of Valleydale’s servants had returned. Post and his wife no longer had to do everything.

He stood at the table and stared out the front window that showed a magnificent view of the front lawn with its lush greenery and tree-lined drive. But it took only seconds for his mind to drift back to Arianna. He hadn’t seen her since the night his cousins arrived and proceeded to have one hell of a wonderful time at his expense. Knowing those two, they were probably still laughing. But he found some consolation in thinking they were probably also wondering how much he hadn’t told them and never would.

The only way he’d been able to stay away from Arianna was sheer willpower. He’d had to search long and hard for it but finally found it when she had told him she was an innocent. He hadn’t lost interest in her, far from it. And keeping his distance from her hadn’t been easy.

It had been sheer torment, but Morgan didn’t want the strings that came with deflowering a maiden. He would feel duty bound to marry her, and that was what finally gave him the willpower to resist her allure. Being leg-shackled at age thirty wasn’t in his plans—no matter how desirable Miss Arianna Sweet was.

So whenever his body yearned for her, whenever he couldn’t get the taste of her, the feel of her, the smell of her out of his mind, whenever he thought he would go mad with wanting her, he would simply remember her innocence and the price he would have to pay if he took that from her. That alone allowed him to stay away from her. It was hard, though, damned near impossible, but so far, in the end, his willpower had come through for him in the nick of time.

“Thank God, Constance has finally arrived and can see her safely to London.”

“Are you talking to me, my lord?”

Morgan turned around and saw Constance standing just inside the doorway to the drawing room. He smiled. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was.”

She wore a pale lavender dress trimmed in dark purple velvet that made her look absolutely fetching. Her vibrant auburn hair had been shaped into tight curls on the top of her head. Her wide green eyes sparkled, and she walked toward him with the confidence of a woman who knew where she stood with a man.

He couldn’t help but notice that although she and Arianna were both beautiful women, they looked nothing alike. Constance’s hair and eyes were lighter than Arianna’s. And Constance looked strictly British through and through, while there was something teasingly exotic about Arianna, and for him, that set her apart from all other women.

Morgan remembered Blake telling him that several men had offered for Constance’s hand this past Season, but she had declined them all. Looking at her now, he could easily understand why so many men had sought her favor. It wasn’t that her face was absolutely lovely or that her pockets were deep. It was her control, her self-confidence that made her beautiful.

And if what Blake said was true—and Morgan had no reason to doubt that—she would continue to rebuff any gentleman’s attentions if he was looking for matrimony. Obviously Constance was enjoying the life of a wealthy widow and all the freedoms it afforded her. Only one thing would make a woman like Constance want to give up her freedom: true love, and it didn’t appear Constance was in the market for that any more than he was.

Morgan met her in the center of the room, where she curtseyed. He bowed and then took her hand in his and lightly kissed it.

“You look absolutely lovely, Constance. I’m honored you came.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Nonsense, my lord. You knew I would as soon as I could make the necessary arrangements.”

He didn’t, but there was no reason to tell her that.

“How could I not heed your plea? I have never read such enticing puffery from a man as what you wrote to me in your letter.”

Morgan gave her a cautious grin. “You make puffery sound like a vulgar word.”

She arched an eyebrow and asked, “Is it not?”

“No, nothing could be further from the truth. I meant every word I wrote.”

“Ha!” she laughed. “If that be the case, Lord Snellingly could certainly take a lesson or two from you on how to write words that actually flatter and entertain a lady.”

Morgan laughed, too. “Now you are the one full of praise and sweet talk, but I’ll gladly accept it. However, I have been unfortunate enough to have heard some of Lord Snellingly’s poetry, and it doesn’t take much to write better than that tight-shoed poet.”

“Too true.”

“Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll pour us a glass of wine.”

“Tell me,” she said, stopping by the floral-printed settee. “Is that a painting of Lady Elder when she was younger? And are those the famous Talbot pearls that I’ve heard so much about?”

“Yes to both. Shortly after Sir Walter gave the pearls to her, my grandmother had at least four or five, maybe more, portraits painted of herself wearing them, but only that one made it to the place of honor here in the drawing room.”

“Where are the others?” she asked and seated herself on one end of the settee.

He handed Constance a glass of claret and said, “In the attic.”

As he sat a respectable distance from her on the other end of the settee, she gave him a disapproving look.

“Shame on you, my lord. Paintings of your grandmother should not be hidden away in the attic to collect dust and lord knows what else. Surely in a house this large you can find a place to hang them.”

“Probably, but I didn’t put them there. She did. I remember that she wasn’t satisfied with the first one, the second, or the third, so she kept commissioning different painters from all over the world until she finally had one she was satisfied with.”

“I can see why she stopped at that one. She looks regal and commanding.”

Morgan looked up at the portrait. “Yes, the artist captured her perfectly. As for the previous paintings, I see it this way. If my grandmother didn’t want them to see the light of day, I’ll respect her wishes and leave them in the attic where she decided to put them.”

“I don’t suppose I can argue with her wishes either,” Constance said and then sipped her wine.

Morgan’s gaze caught Constance’s over the rim of his glass, and they stared at each other for a moment, each giving the other a second look to ponder attraction and possibilities. Constance was beautiful, unattached, and available if he so desired. From his cousin Blake, Morgan knew she was a widow who enjoyed taking a man to her bed. With her there would be no recriminations, no misgivings, and no strings attached. No doubt she would be an excellent bedmate for him, for any man, so why were his thoughts on Arianna?

Why were his thoughts always on Arianna?

“You look pensive, Morgan,” she said, obviously letting him know that the moment of awareness between them had passed without either of them acting on it.

“Do I?” he questioned, giving himself a mental shake.

“I think so. Why don’t you tell me why you needed my help so desperately that you swallowed your pride and wrote to me?”

He smiled ruefully and then chuckled. She was such a clever and charming woman. How could a man not appreciate her directness? It was no wonder she and Blake had remained such good friends after their affair had ended last year.

“You do know how to make a man feel good about himself, Constance.”

She smiled, sipped her wine again, and then said, “I try—from time to time.”

“All right, the short of it is that there is a young lady staying here at Valleydale, and she needs help in a couple of different ways.”

“Oh dear,” she said dryly and blew out an exasperated breath. “Morgan, please don’t tell me a young lady arrived at your door and she has insisted that you are her guardian and all of her previous five guardians have died.”

Morgan laughed, remembering how his cousin Blake and his wife, Henrietta, had met. Though the feelings he had for Arianna could never be considered what a guardian has for his ward.

“I can assure you I am not this lady’s guardian, nor is she in need of one. That said, however, I feel a certain amount of responsibility for her welfare because she came here in hopes that my grandmother might help her.”

“Your grandmother? That’s odd. Didn’t she know your grandmother died over a year ago? If not, she must be the only person in all of England who didn’t.”

“That is part of the problem. She hasn’t been in England. She came from India, where she had lived with her father up until his death. When she arrived in England a few days ago, she came straight here, hoping Lady Elder could assist her in finding a suitable place to live in London as well as aid her in suggesting a respectable companion for her.”

“Why come to Lady Elder? Has she no family she can turn to?”

“None that she has mentioned to me, so I assume not.”

Constance seemed to study over that. “And how did she know your grandmother?”

“She didn’t. Her father was cousin to my grandmother’s second husband Sir Walter Hennessey. Before his death, her father suggested she come to Valleydale and seek help from Lady Elder.”

Constance gave him a knowing smile. “I’m sure there is more to her story than that.”

“There always is,” he said.

Morgan didn’t feel it necessary to mention anything about Arianna’s father’s research, so he remained quiet about all of that. He had felt there was more to Arianna’s story than she was telling, too, but he didn’t see the need to confide in Constance.

“Anyway, her relationship to my grandmother, however distant, is why I feel I must help her get settled in London. Naturally, she would be more comfortable having another lady help her with that sort of thing, which is why I wrote to you.”

“What is she like?”

“She’s ill,” he said.

“Oh, wait a minute, Morgan.” Constance held up her hand and moved restlessly. “I am not a nursemaid.”

“Perhaps I should have said she has been ill.”

“I don’t care. I faint at the sight of blood, and I don’t have the patience or the desire to talk soothing words while wiping a fevered brow.”

Morgan couldn’t help but laugh. He enjoyed Constance’s confidence to be so completely honest with him.

“I understand, and I wouldn’t ask that of you. But you don’t need to be her nursemaid, I assure you. Mrs. Post has been taking care of her, and of course, she has her maid. I saw Miss Sweet a couple of days ago, and she said she is feeling much better, and she looks stronger…” He paused.
And more beautiful and more enticing.
“…than when she first arrived.”

“Hmm. So it’s been two days since you’ve seen her, and she lives in your house?”

He shrugged. “It’s a big house. Besides, because she’s been resting, she takes all her meals in her room.”

“What is her age?” Constance asked.

“Twenty-seven, I believe she said.”

“Most consider that old enough to be put on a shelf and declared a spinster, but maybe not, if she is pretty.”